


thick-spraddled lies the dust (a fit, sad place to write his name)

by linscoresby



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hand Kisses, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s05e15 By Inferno's Light, i mean... it's more of an implied comfort but still counts, no porn only feelings, the epitome of yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 05:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linscoresby/pseuds/linscoresby
Summary: Julian Bashir is back on Deep Space Nine, and everything has changed.
Relationships: Changeling Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 16
Kudos: 89





	thick-spraddled lies the dust (a fit, sad place to write his name)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dr Bashir, I presumed.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3556076) by [littlestarbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlestarbird/pseuds/littlestarbird). 

As his eyes struggled to readapt to the harsh light of the Replimat, Julian knew that everything had changed. It was an uneasy reminder of how much he had adjusted to life inside the Dominion internment camp. The brightness of the Replimat had never bothered him before.

He had just assumed that time had frozen back on Deep Space Nine; he had never wondered what life would be like once he got out. On a conscious level, he understood that time didn’t work like that, but he was never able to face the alternative. He had carried on living under the assumption that, eventually, things would just go back to normal. He had never even considered that things would be different, back on the station - not in the least that one of those things would be him.

“Something on your mind, Doctor?”

“Not really,” Julian lied, spearing a fork into his replicated mashed potatoes. 

“Oh, but I think there is.”

Julian looked up to see Garak smiling down at him. The grin didn’t quite reach his eyes - it was so smugly false, in such a Garak way, that Julian almost laughed.

“I believe,” Garak continued, like a bastard, “that you are back at the Dominion camp, unable to reconcile what your life was with what it has become.”

_ Goddamnit, he’s exactly right. _

“You’re completely wrong,” Julian countered, stabbing a knife into his much abused mashed potatoes. “I was daydreaming about thrashing O’Brien at racquetball.”

A spark of strangely friendly malice lit up in Garak’s eyes.

“If that is the case, Doctor, then why have you been avoiding O’Brien for nearly a week?”

“I haven’t been avoiding O’Brien, I just…” _ haven’t found the time_, Bashir wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. His mouth was dry and his jaw was clenched shut. The Replimat was swaying before his eyes, and he just wished Garak would leave him alone —

He elected to stay silent. He could feel his hands twitching, having run out of cutlery with which to torture his food. He was not in the mood for potatoes.

“Giving up so easy, Doctor?”

“Don’t toy with me, Garak,” Julian bit out.

“Oh, but it’s so —”

“I said _ enough! _” A silence descended upon the Replimat as Julian’s outburst rang out. Heads turned in their direction — Julian could feel their eyes burning into his back. He shrunk into himself, trying to hide as best he could. Garak stared at him, frozen in shock.

Garak, his lunch companion. Garak, the ex-Obsidian Order operative. Garak… who probably knew him better than anyone else on the station.

“God, Garak… how didn’t you know?” Julian mumbled.

The words seemed to shake Garak from his dumb state. “I’m sorry, Doctor, what did y—”

“I _ said _ , how didn’t you _ know?” _ Julian exclaimed. “I… I used to fantasise, back in the camp, about all the different ways you’d discover the Changeling wasn’t me. But then, when you finally show up, you had absolutely no idea — after all this time, you couldn’t tell me apart from a Changeling. I don’t know whether that says more about the Founders, or about you.”

Julian stared desperately as Garak processed his outburst, waiting for any kind of reaction. But there was nothing.

“Perhaps,” Garak said slowly, “I have grown soft, in my exile.”

“That’s bullshit, Garak, and you know it.” An edge of bitterness couldn't help but bleed into Julian's tone as he spoke. “The only time you’d ever admit to any weakness is if you’re covering up for something much, much worse.”

“Like I told you, Doctor, sentiment is the greatest weakness of all.”

“Is that what you’re admitting to?” Julian pressed. “Sentiment?”

Despite having initially not wanting to engage with it, Julian found himself drawn into the game. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears — he and Garak verbally danced around the issue at hand —

Garak hunched over, as if defeated — but wait, that had never happened before, that wasn’t right at all —

“Is there anything I can say that will make you leave this alone?”

In a glimpse, Julian could see how heavy this was weighing on Garak’s shoulders. His scales were pallow and his posture resigned — his eyes were sunken in, like he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. For a moment, Garak looked tired. But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“There is nothing you could say to me,” Julian said softly. “Nothing at all.”

Garak’s eyes darted away before he spoke. It felt like a death sentence.

“He courted me, Doctor.”

Julian was gripped by a sudden and cold vertigo. If there had been anything he'd expected, it was certainly not that. It felt like the floor beneath them had given way, and Julian’s stomach was heedlessly plummeting down into the vacuum of space. There was only him and Garak, in that moment.

“He took me out to dinner, and invited me to your quarters,” Garak continued mercilessly, “and never once did I entertain the thought that it wasn’t you. How could I, when he was giving me everything I ever wanted?”

Julian was only distantly aware of the world around him. His ears were ringing, and his heart was beating far too fast. Each word had felt like a punch to the gut.

When he could finally speak, his words were choked out. “Garak, I don’t... know what to say.”

“No,” Garak said bitterly. “Of course you don’t. For all you Federation types talk about the truth, when it comes down to it, everyone would like to hear a nice, soft lie.”

And then Garak was picking up his tray, walking out the Replimat, and Julian felt his heart stop —

“Wait!” Julian called out. His knees banged against the table - when had he jumped to his feet? A deafening silence fell over the room as everyone turned to stare. The adrenaline rush from earlier turned sour in his veins as the world spun around him.

Garak’s face remained impassive, but his eyes glistened with what Julian now recognised as hurt. He looked almost vulnerable, and that struck Julian to his very core, knowing that it was his fault.

“I have nothing left to say to you.”

“And yet I have so much.”

Garak stared at him, and it took everything in Julian to keep himself upright and staring back. After what felt like hours, Garak hesitantly took a step towards their table. Julian allowed himself to collapse back into his seat, heart racing. After a few moments, Garak joined him.

Having spent those few seconds regaining his breath, Julian slowly began to speak. “It doesn’t feel right on this station anymore, Garak.”

“Doctor, if that’s all you wanted to say, I —”

With a sigh, Julian politely raised a hand, and Garak stopped talking.

“It’s almost like the Changeling came and smoothed over any niche here I could have previously called my own.” Julian straightened his spine, desperately trying to steady himself before continuing: “And I was wondering, Garak, if you could help me find one again.”

Garak’s eyeridges rose just a fraction before settling down again, but the small movement made Julian smile.

“You must understand,” Garak began cautiously, “that I sacrificed so much of my heart to him — it will be some time until it has healed enough to be given away again.”

At Garak’s words, a slow warmth started to blossom inside Julian’s chest. The world around him began calmly settling back into order, and suddenly things didn’t seem so bad. Garak hadn’t said no, and that was all he needed.

“I do understand,” Julian said softly. “But like you found your home in his bed... I was wondering if you would carve out a space for me in yours.”

With that, a tender smile bloomed across Garak’s face. “There is always a seat at my hearth for you, my dear.”

The wide grin Julian offered in return was blinding.

He felt how Garak gently took his hand in his own, and raised it to his lips for a kiss. For all the words that had been exchanged, there was no need for words now. Julian knew what Garak meant, and he felt the same.

A deep tenderness welled up inside Julian. His eyes began to sting, and he could feel them watering, but he found that, to his surprise, he didn’t mind. Because he was with Garak, and that was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly such a joy to write - I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much as I did. After reading kaylquail's "Dr Bashir, I Presumed", I adored the concept and just couldn't get the idea for this fic out of my head.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to @rikersdick on Tumblr for beta-ing this. You can find me @linscoresby on Tumblr if you want to chat (am seriously always down to talk about Garashir).
> 
> The title for this fic comes from the poem The Loss of Love by Countee Cullen. Comments and kudos are always welcome!


End file.
